


One Chance and One Choice

by escobarhippo



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Internal Conflict, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escobarhippo/pseuds/escobarhippo
Summary: Everyone has their version of what should have happened on the show, this is mine.  Takes place immediately after episode 8x03 and the battle.  Brienne is presented with a difficult choice, and struggles to make up her mind.  Love or duty?





	One Chance and One Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was therapy for the awful show ending, I hope it brings you some enjoyment too. This is my happy headcanon. As of right now it's a one-shot but I am toying with the idea of continuing. Thank you to my wonderful beta reader Marina_F for her help! Title is a play on one of my favorite Brienne passages from AFfC.

One Chance and One Choice

  
  
  


It was the rustling sound that woke her.  Soft, barely audible, but persistent. 

 

A person lacking Brienne’s keen senses may have missed the disturbance.  Her sleep had been short and dreamless, her bones heavy as lead. Everything ached from the battle earlier that night.  She had not even bathed after, but merely wiped herself clean a little before falling into the bed, as though a corpse herself.  She fearfully recalled how her exhausted state allowed her to fail to lock her door. Now someone or something was in her chamber.

Brienne’s first, terrified thought was that one of _ them _ survived.  It was here, in her room, looking for her!  She breathed deeply, reminding herself that the Night King was dead, and no such threat remained.  Perhaps it was only a rat? Although Lady Sansa had the castle cleaned so regularly that rodents were usually only spotted in the stables..

The fire had nearly burned out, and the candles had extinguished themselves hours ago.  Although morning was not far, a slight amount of moonlight remained in her room. Slowly, slowly, lifting her head, she waited for her eyes to adjust as she scanned the room.  Just there, by the wardrobe, she could spot a hunched figure. Oathkeeper, of course, was too many steps away. How foolish to not keep it under her bed at easy reach! 

Who would dare invade her space?  Maybe on of the poorer residents of Winterfell had snuck in, looking for warm clothing or something to trade for food.   But Brienne had little coin and nothing particularly valuable.  _ Perhaps it is only a child, orphaned by the battle and cold? _  Her heart softened at the very idea.  She herself felt alone so often, and could not fault an innocent desperate for help.  The shoulders seemed too big for a child. Still, she would not risk harming them, even for thievery.  But what to do?

What she needed was a distraction, the element of surprise.  She could throw something, make noise, and dash for Oathkeeper. Beside her bed was a wooden pitcher half-full of water. It wasn’t heavy enough to maim, but could perhaps stun.  It would give her enough time to grab her sword and take command of the situation. Hopefully she could send them on their way with a lesson and no injuries.

Slipping from beneath the covers as quietly as she could manage, her bare feet lightly touched the floor and she grasped the pitcher.   _ Let my aim be true _ , she wished fervently, and hurled it across the room towards the wardrobe door, just above the prowler.

“SEVEN HELLS!”

 

Her aim was excellent, in fact, as the pitcher had bounced off the wardrobe door onto the head of her target.  However, the intruder was not the only one left stunned. As he stood and revealed himself in the dimness, Brienne didn’t know if she should be angry or amused.

“S-Ser Jaime?”  Suddenly she felt very exposed in her thin nightshift.

Indeed, there he was, rumpled and bleary-eyed, clutching a handful of her tunics.  His own shirt was soaking wet, as was his hair. The pitcher had collided with his forehead, it appeared.   “As though I haven’t collected enough scars this night,” he grumbled, rubbing at the fast-growing bruise.

“How was I to know it was you?”  She felt guilty, yet defensive. Brienne found and  tossed him a clean cloth with which to dry himself. “You’ll catch your death from this cold.”  She quickly went to stoke the fire, still self conscious of her flimsy gown.

 “You snore very loudly,” he quipped as he caught the rag. “At first I thought you had finally allowed Tormund Giantsbane into your bed.”  Her glare did not stop his comments. “Is that why you left your door unlocked? Has he been sneaking in here for trysts?”

“Don’t be foul,” she snapped, repulsed at the thought.  Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see a satchel full of her clothing and belongings at Jaime’s feet.  “What are you  _ doing _ ?”

“Packing your bags.”  He spoke calmly, as though it was an expected thing to be doing in the wee hours.

_ He’s gone mad _ , she realized.  He had sustained one too many blows to the head after so much fighting, (never mind the pitcher!) and now he had lost his senses.  She must send for Samwell Tarly, perhaps he knew of a tincture that would restore Ser Jaime to his right mind. 

She cleared her throat and tried to draw out the questioning.  Perhaps talking gently could bring him back around. “Packing... my bags... Where am I going?”

“ _ We _ .  We are going. To your beloved Tarth.”  He gestured toward a blank paper on the desk.  “Send your father a raven, tell him we are coming.”

_ Home _ .  Her heart ached for it from just the name on his lips.  And Father. How she missed him! She had wanted to make him proud, but feared the disappointment in his eyes if she went now.  Particularly with a one-handed Lannister alongside her. What did she have to show for herself, and her years away?

“What business do you have on Tarth?”

Jaime paused, sopping up water from his beard.  Brienne wondered how he could manage to look so bedraggled yet dashing at the same time.  “I’m a curious man. I want you to show me every inch of your Sapphire Isle.” 

The answer did not satisfy her; clearly Jaime was dodging something.  With the war, this was no time for wanderlust. She crossed her arms. “When were you planning to go on this excursion?  And for how long?”

“For good, if we are lucky.  There is to be a funeral pyre at first light, for those who died in the battle.  If we ride out immediately afterwards we can catch a ship at White Harbor. From there, we could make it to Tarth in a week or so.”

“You forget I am sworn to Sansa.  I cannot leave her.”

He snorted.  “Have you seen the Hound following her around?  I doubt very much the Lady of Winterfell requires two protectors.  She’ll be in no danger. You promised Lady Catelyn to get her daughters home safe, and they are.”  He dropped himself in a chair opposite her bed, looking weary yet oddly calm. “Don’t give up your life serving others, Brienne.  You’ll die bored and lonely.” 

That stung, her oldest fear flung in her face.   _ Alone _ .  She has always felt that way, and expected her future would be much of the same.   “Well, I....,” she stuttered. “Besides, there’s Podrick.” 

“Who is readying our horses as we speak.  He’ll be joining us.”

Brienne groaned.  He had already involved her squire in this plan?  This was utterly ridiculous. Impatient and befuddled, now she spoke her concerns aloud.  “Have you gone mad?”

“Yes, I think so.”  Jaime bounced up from his chair and strode over to her so suddenly that it startled her.  But he only cupped her face, tenderly, and brushed his thumb over her chin. “May I kiss you, Brienne?”

_ I am still abed and this is but a dream _ .  Too many nights she had dreamt of such a moment with him.  Here, so close to him in the moonlight, feeling his breath on her skin, there was no doubt.  No hesitation. 

“Yes.”  She could barely manage a whisper, and then his lips were upon hers.  The tenderness almost made her knees buckle. Jaime was gentle and soft and sweet, and in that moment she finally understood how vows could be forsaken for love.

Weakly, she sat on the edge of her bed, tugging him down next to her.  She leaned into his chest as he wrapped his arm around her. His shirt was still damp but she didn’t care.  This embrace felt good - it felt good to be held. With their size difference it should have been awkward. For anyone else, maybe, but not for her.  Not for  _ them _ .

“Were you going to wake me and tell me of your plot, or just kidnap me?” she asked wryly.

He laughed softly, pressing another kiss to her head.  “I would never presume to be able to overpower Ser Brienne of Tarth.  If I could, I would toss you over my horse and leave now.” 

“What makes you so confident I’d go along with this plan?”

“In truth?  My brother. He said you have the look of a woman in love.”

“Tyrion said that?”  She was horrified, wondering if she indeed had been mooning over Jaime in front of all of Winterfell.  Surely  _ not _ .

“Anyway, I’m not kidnapping you.  I’m  _ asking  _ you to come.”

It was head-spinnning.  “You spring this on me now?  After all we’ve just been through, should we be making such a decision as this?”

“No, that’s just it!” Jaime exclaimed.  “ We’ve wasted too much time. Last night during the battle I thought you were going to die under a pile of of those creatures.  And I realized if you died, I didn’t want to live. But now, we’re here… and I want us both to live. Really live. Together.” Jaime reclined on his back, pulling her down with him.  She rested her chin on his chest to look at him. She loved the feel of his heart beating, the scent of his skin.

“Tarth is a wonderful place.  The people don’t care so much about thrones and battles.  But what of your family?” she asked.  _ Your sister, _ she almost added, but was afraid of the answer.   


“My sweet sister wants me dead, although I’d wager she will beat me to the grave.  I don’t want Casterly Rock and all the courtly politics that go with it. Tyrion should have it.  Last night was all the death I ever want to see, the last battle I ever want to fight. I don’t want more war,  and I don’t want to freeze to death here in the bloody north.” His voice was rising. 

“What  _ do  _ you want?” she asked.

“You.  I want you.  If you’ll have me.”

_ If you’ll have me _ .  The same words he had spoken only a few days before. They had the same piercing affect on her heart.  But how did he mean? Surely not  _ that _ .   “You want... me?  Me. As?”

“As my wash woman!”  He squeezed around her waist, but gently.  “You silly, silly, wench. I want you as my wife, if you’ll have an old cripple such as myself.”  His voice cracked, she had never seen him look so nervous, so vulnerable, yet determined.  _ He wants me _ .  The realization gave her a shiver of power and pleasure.

This was all too much, too much.  Now Brienne began to wonder if it was perhaps she herself who had sustained damage to her senses.  Perhaps he was japing, he knew he was her weakness now. “Jaime”, she begged softly. “Do not tease me.  Please.”

“You truly think I would jape about such serious matters?”

“But I-- I am not a proper lady.  Not suitable to take to wife. I’m big and ugly and--.”

He stopped her with a finger to the lips.  “To me you are everything good in this fucked up world.”   


Emotion nearly choked her.  How long had she tried to tamp down these feelings for Jaime?  For years they had haunted and hounded her, and fought them off like any other enemy.  Yet the love for him continued rising. If only it would be so easy to hop on a boat and live a life of bliss with him on Tarth. But it never was that easy, never could be.  She had sworn vows, after all.

“Jaime… You know I must speak with Lady Sansa first.  I swore to her, and I swore to her mother...”. If Sansa did not release her from her oath, she would have to remain in Winterfell.  Not to mention she had grown fond of the Lady of Winterfell, and even the North itself. And if she stayed? What of Jaime? “Where will you go if I stay here?”

He looked wounded, but tried to brush it off with a chuckle.  Brienne knew him well enough to know it stung. Hurting him was the last thing she wanted, but he needed a plan.   “It would be best if I remove myself from the Dragon Queen’s presence before she changes her mind on letting me live.  Perhaps I’ll become a sellsword. The first one-handed sellsword in Westeros! Maybe your father will have me on Tarth?”

She gave a bark of laughter at that thought.  They laid in silence then awhile, gently touching each other as much as they dared - stroking arms, rubbing backs, nuzzling necks.  Her breath was taken away by his gentleness. She liked watching his body react to her touch. It was so new, so  _ fun _ \--a feeling quite alien.  For a brief while Jaime drifted off to sleep.  Brienne allowed him his respite, until the sky grew paler and she gently poked his nose to rouse him.

“It’s growing lighter,” she murmured. “We should get ready for the funeral.”  Brienne was loathe to speak up, she would have been pleased to remain in his arms for a fortnight.  A chill was felt as his body separated from hers.  _ This could be all I will ever have of him _ , she thought, with a sadness deep in her bones.

He rubbed his eyes sleepily, almost boyishly, and gave her a knowing look as he hovered by the door.   “Meet me in the stables after? You can tell me your decision then, whatever it may be.” He slipped out of her room then, like a ghost.  She even wondered if the past hour had actually happened.

Only after Jaime was gone did Brienne realize he had taken her bags with him.  She scowled at the knowledge that she had naught to wear but her clothes from the day before, still smelling of smoke and stained with blood. No matter, she needed to don them and speak with Sansa before the funeral.

Even if Sansa gave her blessing, she had a choice to make.  Abandon her post or follow her heart? Being released from an oath was still a sort of failure, was it not?  Brienne had chosen her heart over her head before, but never at the expense of a vow. Never asking for something, only offering service.  

\---

 

Lady Sansa had proven to be distracted but understanding when Brienne explained her predicament. Nor was she entirely surprised, as she admitted she had noticed the connection between her and Jaime.    _ Make the choice for yourself, not for me.  I would miss you but will be fine _ , her lady had said.  It was true, Brienne also learned, that Sandor Clegane had sworn his sword to Sansa as well.  Strange as the scarred man was, he was skilled in the art of combat and Sansa would be well protected.  She still did not know if she  _ could _ leave.   What would Lady Catelyn think?   _ Me abandoning her daughters for the Kingslayer _ .   _ I would fail her all over again. _  She didn’t want to think on that further.

\---

 

As the sun crept into the morning sky, Brienne joined both Podrick and Jaime in front of the castle, where the dead were piled in preparation.  She was pleasantly surprised by some of the faces she saw in the crowd--ones she had never expected to see again. They had done better against the dead than expected.

“Are we truly leaving, m’lady?” Podrick whispered.   


She was aware of Jaime standing closer to her, just barely touching.

“I don’t know, Pod.”  She felt nervous and suddenly shaky.

“I’d love to see Tarth, you know,” he prattled on.  “Your father lives there, doesn’t he? Ser Jaime told me about the waters.  Is it true?”

She shushed him and lowered her head respectfully as Jon Snow began to speak to the gathered crowd.

Brienne watched as torches were lit, goodbyes were said, and bodies set ablaze.   Wails and sobs could be heard all around. Poor Sansa was weeping over Theon Greyjoy.   _ After all they endured together, what a loss for her _ , thought Brienne.  It must hurt so to say goodbye.  She blinked back tears for her friend.

Her mind was spinning and her thoughts began to wander.  Marrying for love was stupid--look how it has turned out for poor Robb Stark.  She was a knight now, serving a lady of one of the oldest, most respected houses in Westeros.  To throw it all away to be a wife on Tarth sounded ridiculous, yet she hungered for it regardless.  She could imagine curling up with Jaime before the fire on chilly nights when the ocean air crept through Evenfall Hall, swimming with him at the same pools in which she learned to swim, showing him the secret cave behind her favorite waterfall.  Yet how could she be so selfish, when the honor of servitude and sacrifice had been her life’s purpose? She shivered. The internal tug of war was too much, as though she were wobbling at the edge of a cliff.

Smoke from the charring bodies was growing thick in the air around them as the crowd began to disperse.   The smell nearly gagged her, and she didn’t want to seem rude by coughing. 

As she turned hastily to leave, a hunchbacked older woman in a threadbare shaw nearly collided with her.  The woman began to trip, and Brienne caught her arm just in time. “Are you well, my lady?” she asked. 

“No!” the woman cried desperately.  “I’m all alone now. My husband was lost in the fighting, as was my son, and his son too.”  She began to sob, shaking off Brienne’s hand and stumbling away.

Brienne felt helpless, not knowing how to offer comfort to the bereaved.  “May the Seven bless them for their sacrifices,” she called awkwardly after her. The poor woman had lost everything.  _  I could have, but I didn’t. _  For a long while she stood in the ashy cold air, watching until the woman disappeared, then just staring.  Staring and thinking. Thinking about loss and loneliness and life and promises. Only when the sound of a goat bleating nearby stirred her did she begin to walk again.

As she approached the stables, a lump formed in her throat.  Would she regret this farewell? Life had been so full of them, but she knew what she had to do.

Jaime and Pod were inside the dusty stable, where the three horses were saddled and packed.  Both men turned as she entered. For a moment no one spoke, and only the sounds of shuffling hooves and crunching on hay could be heard..  Pod, insightful as always, mumbled something about filling his water cask and led his mare out into the morning light. 

Now, it was just Jaime and Brienne.   Neither spoke, but the look on Jaime’s face was the same as earlier - hopeful, nervous.  Brienne’s stomach coiled into a knot.  _ It is time. _

 

“My lady?”  Jaime extended his arm, reaching for her, the opportunity within her grasp.     
  


_ This is my chance, and this is my choice. _  
  


She took his hand.


End file.
